Something's Fishy, Redux

After experimenting with 13 small fish for the IBO’s silly little Group IV Project, 9 died. So, sue us. If they didn’t want to die, they would have stopped peeing a long time ago.

Being the humanitarian I am, I put the remaining four into clean water to live out the rest of their days happily, not asphyxiating on their own urine. The other night, I put four in a new bowl and went to bed. The next morning, I got up and fed three fish.

Wait, what?

It appears one escaped! I looked all around – on the floor, behind the bowl, under the table on which their tank sat – to no avail. I surmised that one must have been so depressed to be a part of our cruel, cruel experiment he jumped from the bowl to its own death and decided that I would find it later.

That evening, I fed the three fish and went to bed. The next morning, I got up and fed two fish.

Wait, what?

Another one was gone by the wayside. Disgruntled, I continued with my daily life and looked again tonight for the remains of the fish. I only found one, which leaves the other that escaped available to murder me with a butcher knife while I sleep. I couldn’t take that risk any further, so I did what any self-respecting fish owner would do with the remaining fish and flushed them.

Bring it on, PETA. Bring it on.

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